


Fleeting Frequency

by Black_Fig



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Aftercare, Alastor is a BAMF, Alastor is a manipulative little shit, Alastor is an Asshole, Alastor is asexual but not sex repulsed, Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Blood Magic, Blood Play, Blow Jobs, Branding, Cajun Alastor, Cannibalism, Demiromantic Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Dom Drop, Dom Vox, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Edging, Erotic Electrostimulation, Evil assholes in love, Explicit Consent, Extremely Good Dom Vox, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Gore, Gray-Asexual Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Gray-Asexuality, Jealousy, M/M, Masochism, Masochist Alastor, Monsterfucker, Monsters, Over-negotiated BDSM, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Queer Romantic Alastor, Sadism, Sadistic Alastor, Sadistic Vox, Serial Killers, Shapeshifting, Shibari, Shitlords, Sub Alastor, Tentacles, Touch Averse Alastor, Touch-Starved, Vox Has Secrets, Vox is a BAMF, Vox is a condescending little shit, Vox is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), but they are all demons so I don't know, cannibal cooking, cannot emphasize how much blood this will have, inappropriate use of eldritch powers, kind of a weird scary adorable Alastor if you squint your eyes, power bottom Alastor, shitlords in love, statictlovetune, they are evil and their domestic is creepy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Fig/pseuds/Black_Fig
Summary: Alastor found everything around him dull, that’s why he’d start performing and killing. He wanted to feel. Well, Vox made him feel, he made Alastor feel almost everything--and everything was too much. Like electricity, powerful as thunder that once it struck, it leaves you undone. Looking Vox in the eye while he commanded something felt… funny.
Relationships: Alastor & Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 253





	Fleeting Frequency

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feral for this ship and I am not afraid to say it. I am also aro/ace, so expect a realistic perspective of sex from someone in the spectrum.
> 
> We don't know a lot about Vox, so I made my own headcanons.
> 
> Buckle up for a wild ride. This rare ship is sailing.

_'Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.  
Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.  
  
_— Donna Tartt, _The Secret History._

* * *

Alastor had seen the picture show before Vox came to Hell. He used to love ‘Felix the Cat’ back in his day--the silent cartoon played in 1919; he went nuts about it, cracked himself up for an entire week. He did see a mechanical TV at the end of the twenties, but he was really not that impressed by that. Radio has always been his most beloved media, and he was glad he didn’t live far enough into the thirties to watch his dearest pastime die in favor of the google-box.

Radio used to be the most advanced technology when he got into Hell. Those were glorious years, a radio in every house, just like when he was on Earth. He took pride in his shows, and knew people were entertained. But then Vox came into the picture and Alastor lost his spot. The TV demon rose above everyone, an unstoppable force just like himself. And the worst thing? It wasn’t fast, like when you ripped off a bandage quickly to avoid hurting yourself further--no, no. It was slow as fuck… and to his dismay, painfull too.

They used to work together, and Alastor liked it--back when Vox had a CRT monitor for a head, that is. He wasn’t that bad in the beginning, and he did have good ideas. Alastor found himself often laughing, and not in his theatric way, when he was around Vox. But then… Better not to recall that fiasco, he told himself.

The radio demon liked to be surprised, to be kept on the edge of his seat, to be intrigued! At least in a way he could tell was not other people’s cup of tea. But deep inside, Alastor was a man of routine, he hated change because change meant the unknown, and the unknown meant losing control.

Sure, Alastor liked the unexpected, but under his rules. He'd ad-lib on the stage, improvise a tune on a fiddle or piano, and, in the heat of the moment, he killed in so many creative ways, inspired carnage out of nowhere… That was fun, that was entertainment! All in his grasp, Alastor twisted and shaped into whatever he wanted, but he couldn’t manage technology. The radio demon couldn’t control young Vox when he had taken Pentagram City by storm. He was younger, clever, and terribly charming, in a way Alastor could not ignore, which was unacceptable.

The deer demon had never encountered such a person in death or life, and he tried not to find a new one when Vox left him behind to work with Valentino.

Alastor found everything around him dull, that’s why he’d start performing and killing. He wanted to feel. Well, Vox made him feel, he made Alastor feel almost everything--and everything was too much. Like electricity, powerful as thunder that once it struck, it leaves you undone. Looking Vox in the eye while he commanded something felt… funny.

A ball of white flaming fury formed in Alastor’s gut and expanded through his body at these thoughts. He felt like a child all over again, in the bayou, his mother dead and bloody right beside him. Alastor’s hands shaking her, trying to wake her, while dogs barked near them--the sound coming from everywhere, hot tears falling from his face. He hadn’t realized he was crying, a smile plastered on his twitching lips, stretching wider by the second. He was paralyzed, the dogs came, and he was helpless.

Alastor blinked twice and focused his gaze on the small device that was upside down on his coffee table. He grasped his microphone tightly and furrowed his brows, but his smile widened a little bit more, twitching at the corner.

The radio demon wanted to throw it away, but he couldn’t even touch it. He looked beside the device, at the note that came with it, a piece of white paper, folded in half. He had already read it a hundred times over. Alastor took it with care, unfold it methodically--the same precise way he made the incisions in all his victims when he gutted them. The words were written in neat calligraphy and seemed sincere. Alastor hated how that twisted his stomach. He felt his hunger suddenly hiked and something else he couldn’t’ place, he hated that too.

Rage raised above everything else, and within seconds, he made his microphone disappear and took the stupid thing in his hands. The screen lit when his face aligned with it, a brightness that blinded Alastor, who froze like a deer in headlights. Once the radio demon adjusted to the light, he inspected the electronic. It looked like paper in a way he couldn’t understand--it wasn’t like all the other screens he had watched before. His red eyes went over the note again and found the word he was looking for.

“A ‘Kindle,’” he said, still frowning, his smile going down just a little bit. “Well, that seems appropriate, I guess!” Alastor chirped, and a laugh track played around him with an echo.

“You don’t fucking know what it is, do you?” The screen glitched, and Vox’s voice sounded through the small speakers on the device. Alastor flinched and almost dropped it.

“Easy babe, I just wanted to say hi. Not showing up, even though I wish I could see your pretty face,” the TV demon continued, full of confidence, as if he knew exactly how Alastor would react. That infuriating tone sent a shiver down Alastor’s spine, and the radio demon reminded himself that he was feeling rage and nothing more.

“What’s this buffoonery? How dare you send me this crap to spy on me?” Alastor said through static, grasping the device between his gloved claws, cracking the screen, but not quite destroying it. “Do you think I’m stupid? I don’t have this kind of nonsense for a reason!”

A pause at the other end of the device, and then a muffled snort.

“You don’t have electronics because of me? That’s rich, I love it! You have always been an intelligent fellow.” Vox chuckled, and Alastor’s brow twitched three times. “I’m sorry I scared you that much, sugar, but what can I say? I enjoy being ahead of the great radio demon a little too much.” Vox laughed easily this time, but stopped when he could almost see Alastor clenching his jaw, even though he was just broadcasting sound via wifi.

“Are you quite done, dear? I have things to do, and, frankly, I’m not enjoying this at all. You are very obnoxious!” Alastor said cheerfully, pressed his lips together and walked to the red chair at the other side of the room to sit by the window. He crossed his legs and rested his free hand on the curvy arm made of oak.

“Hey, I just wanted to talk. I’m really not here to make you uncomfortable, but you wouldn’t answer the phone or even letters. Just give me five minutes in person, and then I’ll leave you alone.” Vox wasn’t asking, that was a clear demand.

Broken fragments of music and talk shows that seem to be broadcasted a long time ago made a symphony into the room before Alastor regain his composure and decide to answer.

“Why should I?” Alastor dug his claws in the shiny wood of his art deco chair, scratching the surface, “Am I not obsolete?” His eyes turned to dials, anger building. “Suddenly you change your mind?” The words were out before he could do something to stop them. His anger was replaced by dread, the light dimming in his eyes. He froze up, his hooves in his perfectly clean two-tone Oxford shoes firmly planted on the wine rug.

Alastor waited to be mocked and prepared himself to throw the hellish thing against the wall, or maybe just break it in half. The problem was not that, really, the problem was that he chose to hold back.

“Look.” Vox’s voice was orotund, but more sympathetic. “I know what I said, pal.” It sounded like regret, but Alastor didn’t want to fool himself.

“Let’s make a deal. I’ll keep away from this screen and it’s speakers if you accept it as a gift and come to see me. No funny business, I swear,” Vox said, not waiting for Alastor’s retort. The radio demon could almost picture Vox goofily crossing his heart while raising his other hand beside his head. He knew him too well. He hated it.

Alastor gaped at the screen, the corners of his lips up, brows high and almost touching his hairline. He tried to refuse, but he couldn’t, his tongue tangled for what seemed an eternity. Static and faint distorted music filled the silence until words dropped from his lips without his consent: “Where and when?”

White noise came for a straight second from the device’s speakers, matching the sounds that kept coming out of Alastor. And just like that, the TV demon was back.

“Such a good boy,” Vox praised, and Alastor quietly snarled at the Kindle.

“Six p.m. Today. By the antique store you always liked so much. Do we have a date?” the TV demon asked half-serious, half purring in a joking tone.

“Before I agree to attend this ridiculous meeting, I have other conditions,” came Alastor’s voice, his face too near the Kindle. “First, never send me a gift again. Second, you have exactly five minutes no more, no less. Third, if I don’t like whatever you’re gonna say, I’ll be out of there within seconds, and you’ll not try to stop me unless you want me to rip your arms off. This is business, this is not a date!” His enthusiastic tone was back, but came along with sounds of broken records playing on loop.

“Is that all?” asked Vox, almost condescending.

“No more pet names and you got yourself a deal, my impertinent fellow,” Alastor answered with a distorted voice, brows narrowed, his smile still in place, painfully wide.

“Swell! I was getting bored with all your trippin’. See you soon, Alastor,” Vox quipped before the screen glitched again and everything went back to being silent.

Alastor stayed there for the next five minutes, staring at the electronic, pondering if he should destroy it or not. He got up and pinched the bridge of his nose while making a strained but content sound. The radio demon walked fast into the bathroom, wrapped the Kindle in a towel, and dropped it in a drawer.

When he looked up to the clock on the wall, it was already 5:15 p.m. He smiled like the time Angel offered to fellate him a long time ago, and darted out of his room. With a snap of his fingers, Alastor brought his microphone back into a tight grip.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, [vol_ctrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl). You are amazing.
> 
> If you want to yell at me find me here: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Blackfig_)


End file.
